


Objectify the Mage

by Starla-Nell (Princess_Nell)



Series: Treats [8]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Anal Sex, Cockwarmer, Cum Play, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Multi, Objectification, Oral Sex, Pearl Necklace, Spanking, Subspace, Teasing, one letter does not an epistolary romance make, pinning/restraint, sadism/masochism mentions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-06
Updated: 2018-09-06
Packaged: 2019-07-07 21:26:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15916569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Princess_Nell/pseuds/Starla-Nell
Summary: Fenris,I hope this note finds you well. Can we pretend I’m skilled at letter introductions and move on? Thank you for your kindness.We’ve devised a game, and (though Anders does not share my concerns) you might be put off by a surprise of this nature. I predict that, should you join us tonight, you will want the rules faster than I can provide on the spot.Rules to the game:•	Functions of an object are determined before its use begins.•	An object performs its assigned functions when used.•	An object can’t talk.•	An object has a defined place.•	An object must be cared for.•	Objects cannot be subjected to pain.•	Anders is an object.I would enjoy your company tonight to show off my new acquisition. However, I understand if such a display is not to your taste. I trust you will join us only if you are comfortable with the game.Yours,HawkeFenris,Hawke convinced me to write this even though I wanted to surprise you. I told him you’d be fine. It was my idea to become Hawke's plaything, but Maker I hope no one intercepts this note. There’s a difference between (scribbled out). Just make sure you don’t lose it.Anders





	1. New Kink

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry it has taken so long to update this series. Ends up that when you focus on one writing project, another falls by the wayside. 
> 
> I recommend that you catch up through all of the Treats because of gradual changes in the Fenris/Anders dynamic through the series. If you don’t want to, then here’s what you need to know: Fenris and Anders are in this relationship for Hawke but are willing to ‘put up with’ each other. Neither can see that they’re catching feelings, and neither would admit it. Yet. Hawke is hoping they fall in love with each other, too, but he knows it will take time. For now, he’ll settle for a lack of arguments. 
> 
> Also, their dynamic is Dom!Hawke, sub!Anders, and switch!Fenris. Fenris plays a supporting Dom role in this fic, following Hawke’s rules.

Hawke’s bored with writing his letters when Anders clambers into the main hall from the Darktown stairs. It’s getting darker. A quarter hour ago, Orana built up the fires in the rooms they’re likely to use.

Hawke waves Anders over for a kiss. It’s a simple press of lips, the taste of Anders and pine almost covering a faint lyrium potion, but Hawke detects anticipation under Anders’ touch. Hawke cradles the back of Anders’ neck to kiss with tongue and passion, and Anders’ breath hisses as he returns the kiss.

This is odd: Anders avoids his eyes.

“Good evening to _you_ ,” Hawke says.

“Evening, Hawke,” Anders replies, shy.

“Something you want?” Hawke teases.

Normally, Anders says _yes,_ but tonight he flusters. “Maybe. If you want. Can we discuss it?”

“Always,” Hawke assures him. “Should I ask Fenris to stay home?”

Anders simply shakes his head. “It’s fine if Fenris joins.” Hawke expected worse fluster. _Curious._

“Go take your feathers off. I’m nearly done.”

Anders walks backwards, saying, “Okay. Good. See you soon.” He backs into the parlor, staff clunking into the door.

Hawke sends wine in after him and finishes this letter. _No, the Champion will not attend a gala to which elves and mages are unwelcome._ He sighs. The letter will cause a fuss. With a pang, he wishes for his mother’s flair for refusing graciously.

_The Search for the True Prophet_ is on the parlor table, notes sprouting between the pages, but Anders stares at the fire, twisting his fingers in his lap. His armor is on its stand with his staff. When he sees Hawke, Anders takes a deep breath and splits his ponytail to pull it tight. He tugs the tie to the usual place at the back of his head.

Hawke uncorks and pours the wine. “How is Justice?” he asks, passing Anders a glass.

Anders accepts with a surprised laugh. “Better. We’ve, uh, worked out a deal.”

“That’s promising. Details?”

Anders’ eyes turn desperate. “Details, Hawke? Now?”

“I suppose not,” Hawke says, settling into his chair. “You need something tonight.” It’s not a question.

“I’ve-I’ve figured out an interesting way to hit good headspace.”

“When did you think of it?” Hawke asks, sipping his wine. It’s another bottle of the Antivan Fenris found, with a spicy cinnamon nose.

“This morning,” Anders says and then chokes out, “but if you’re not comfortable, you don’t…” Anders quiets, unsure how to finish or unwilling to.

“You’ve imagined it all day,” Hawke rolls wine over his tongue to savor the notes of apples and berries. “Did Justice help?”

“No!” Anders says.

“Pity,” Hawke mumbles so Anders can ignore him.

Instead, he snaps, “Hawke, isn’t your harem big enough?”

Hawke glances questioningly. “Isn’t Justice—you know, I’m not calling my partners a ‘harem.’ You’re not prizes or a sex pool. Anyway, there are two of you.” Hawke waves vaguely. “Three if we count Justice.”

“I _don’t_ think of Justice sexually. Please, I don’t want to discuss him.”

“Should we focus on sex?” Hawke warns with a mischievous smile. When Anders nods, he continues, “I forget your embarrassment over kink when I remember your lips around my cock.”

Anders turns red. “I’m not… embarrassed. I love those things… Andraste’s frilly knickers, I don’t discuss kink with _Justice_ of all people.” He gulps the wine.

Hawke leans forward. “What do you want tonight, Anders?”

“I want…” Anders takes a big breath. “I want to offer something nice.” Hawke can hear his nervousness rising again. _He hasn’t been this flustered since the first time he asked me to hurt him._ It clicks for Hawke. _Anders has a new kink._

“You mentioned a way to hit your headspace for me,” Hawke says. A thrill of excitement and just a touch of dread flit through him. He wants to get this _right_.

Anders breathes deep and locks eyes on his wineglass. “I enjoy asking you to use me for your pleasure.” Anders pauses for another breath. “I want to be an object tonight. I could be a fancy toy designed for you, something you might play with and put in the wardrobe when you’re done.”

“You wouldn’t fit,” Hawke jokes to cover his delight. _This could be fun for us._

“A toy like that would be Hawke-levels of ostentatious,” Anders says, playful now that he’s through the hard part.

“I’d rather set than follow trends,” Hawke admits. “Help me think this through. You want to be a sex toy?”

“It doesn’t have to be sex. What were your plans without me?”

“Think about you?” Hawke teases.

“I’m serious.”

“Serious, huh?” Hawke rubs his chin. “I suppose Varric wants the third act of my memoir, but it’s not fit for… eyes. Usually, I enjoy revising, but everyone in Kirkwall is flaunting their banana pants. I can’t concentrate.” Hawke gives Anders a half-smile. “Got anything for productivity?”

Anders thinks a moment and asks, “Ever used a cockwarmer?”

“No,” Hawke admits, “but I like it already.”

“It’s a… how do I…”

_Maybe I can help him pick a perspective._ “You said _it_ is for pleasure,” Hawke prompts.

Anders locks eyes with his wineglass again, but he’s more relaxed. “I’ve heard it’s pleasant. It’s _like_ a mouth, warm and moist, but not… active. I would—it would!—hold your cock while you write.”

“I can’t think when I’m hard, Anders. That’s why we negotiate beforehand.”

“It’s not quite a sex toy, more of a comfort. It would hold you soft until you want… advanced services. It improves your focus and enjoyment. Nasty duties become palatable. Tasks you enjoy become delightful.”

“What do you like about this?”

Anders looks like a startled deer.

“Don’t get me wrong, love,” Hawke says gently. “I want to do this for you. If I know what you need I can provide it.”

Anders nods and his brow furrows. “Being a pet gets me out of my head. Can’t speak, can’t argue. That’s usually enough for me. Being an object… I’d have no decisions, no desires. Just making you happy and feeling you. When I hit that space, I know you’re getting what you need. I’m good and useful, but you make it easy.”

“What if I hurt you?”

“I’d take it. Easily. It would wash through me, but I wouldn’t care.”

Hawke nods. “Okay. You like pain, but I need to learn how you react as an ‘object’. The first few times, you’ll choose between pain and objectification.”

“You know I can heal it if we go too far?” Anders snarks, goading.

“I know,” Hawke says, “but that’s my condition.”

“That will work.” Anders nods.

“Fenris will need the rules _before_ he joins us,” Hawke says.

Anders looks away again. “Tell him when he gets here.”

“Anders, Fenris might see this and misunderstand.”

“You remember when I told him to use me?”

“I do.” Hawke smiles. “You were so far gone, I’m surprised you do.”

“We talked about it. He said he likes it.”

Hawke shakes his head. “He was horny but won’t be when he walks in.”

“Offer him a go,” Anders says with a snort. “That should do it.”

Hawke shakes his head. “Consider his history. Removing your agency might be too much for him.”

“Or he might like the surprise! New toy! Come play!”

“Or he might flip out. He comes from a country where people are _owned_ , Anders. If you’re my object, I’m your owner. We’re just playing, but it might cut too close for him.”

“The difference is you don’t own me.” Anders waves his hand vaguely. “I’m your boyfriend outside this game.”

Hawke shrugs. “Fenris thinks a lot. Sometimes that goes unexpected directions.”

“Fuck that,” Anders snaps. “He _likes_ it, Hawke. We _talked_ about it. If he suddenly hates it when we take it further, he can fuck right off.” Anders is breathing hard. _Not angry. Frightened._

“This isn’t about him,” Hawke says. “You’re afraid this kink is too much.”

Anders shoves himself up and walks over to the fire, staring into it. Hawke approaches like he might spook and wraps him in a hug. He’s warm and smells like iron and the leather of his armor.

“You are the mage who dares to love,” Hawke says. “And I love you back, so much.” Anders turns to bury his face in Hawke’s shirt, and Hawke’s hold tightens. “Even if Fenris changes his mind, even if I decide it’s not for me, it is _still_ healthy and good you have this desire. I hope we can fulfill it, but even if we can’t, it’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

There’s a long pause. Before Hawke can invent more eloquent phrases for it, Anders responds.

“They taught me to squelch any emotion I’m not using for magic.” Anders is muffled by Hawke’s shoulder. “I’m safe thanks to Justice. Should get easier, but every new desire… or outrage or joy… is hard to allow myself.”

“You’re safe from more than demons,” Hawke tells him. “I’ll love you even if I can’t fulfill your desires. If you don’t want something we normally do, I’ll still love you then, too.”

Anders shifts so he’s not muffled anymore. “Flaming knickers, am I being an ass? About Fenris?”

“Here’s what I suggest,” Hawke says. “We write him before we start, give him enough information to decide. Tell him our safeguards.” Hawke pulls back. “We can take care of him, too.”

Anders reluctantly lets Hawke catch his eye. “Fine. I hate when you’re right.”

“That’s not what you said the other night.”

“Which night?” Anders demands, grinning back.

Hawke flaps his hand vaguely. “All of them.” He makes a comically lewd face for Anders’ chuckle and fetches the parchment and two quills.


	2. New Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris arrives while the game is in progress. How will this go?

It’s a beautiful night. Most are. Something about the mountains, Fenris has heard, makes rain skip over the city. Tonight, the moon that’s out is full enough to shine through the veil of clouds. Sometimes Fenris can catch a glimpse of a star or planet through the gaps.

“Good evening, Messere Fenris,” Bodahn says when he arrives.

“Evening, Bodahn,” Fenris replies. “Are Hawke and Anders still in the parlor?”

“Ah. Well. They—Messere Hawke is upstairs.”

Fenris raises his eyebrows. “But not Anders?”

“I’m not to relay Anders is here.” Bodahn seems annoyed.

_Interesting. Something to do with their new game?_

“Thank you, Bodahn, and sorry your boss is eccentric,” Fenris says dryly.

Bodahn shrugs. “Could be worse, messere.”

 _Could be Tevinter._ Fenris racks his armor and sword in the parlor and heads to the bedroom.

Hawke’s best games are in the bedroom.

Hawke is writing at his desk, clothed and focused. He smiles over his shoulder. Fenris is disappointed and slightly relieved. He’d nearly stayed home.

“Fenris! How are you?” Hawke stays seated. He has his quill and ink, journal, and glasses of wine and clean water.

Fenris’ book, a chair, and another glass of the Antivan red are set near Hawke, but first Fenris leans in. There’s a curious long-simmering desire in Hawke’s cinnamon-wine kiss. _Where’s Anders?_

“I’m doing well, Hawke, and you?”

“Sublime,” Hawke purrs. “I’ve discovered a modern comfort.” Fenris sits, tucking his thumb between his book’s pages, and nods for an explanation.

There’s a wet noise under the desk. “It’s called a cockwarmer,” Hawke says. A frisson shoots through Fenris’ nerves. “A simple pleasure to improve the quality of life.”

“I wouldn’t mind seeing it.” Fenris leans back. _Found you. Oh, fuck._ Anders is between Hawke’s knees, face in his lap, wearing loose clothing, a red-and-gold satin pillow from Hawke’s bed protecting him from the grey tile floor. He’s collared, and a leash leads to a hook under the desk. The red strip of curtain around his torso shows through the thin undyed shirt.

Fenris expects Anders to display himself, but he’s relaxed and still. Anders steadies himself against Hawke’s leg and chair. His lips stretch as he slides down Hawke’s hardening cock. He makes another wet, choking noise before Hawke tugs him up by his ponytail.

Hawke nods at Anders. “It’s inactive while I work, always the perfect temperature and shape. I can take a break and show off its advanced features.”

 _It. Features. Modern comfort._ Fenris says, “So, what did you two negotiate?”

Hawke pulls Anders off with a pop to talk undistracted. Anders is cut off from his own body: slack expression, unfocused eyes, obedience to a touch. Anders loves sucking cock, but tonight he doesn’t complain or tease when it’s taken from him. Fenris had braced for it but finds himself startled anyway. Hawke’s letter said no pain, so Anders must’ve slid this deep by playing his role.

“You read my letter?”

Fenris nods. “I’d like more detail.” The details lured him here. That and the implied challenge in Anders’ ‘I told Hawke you’d be fine.’

“Anders wants to be a plaything instead of a pet tonight,” Hawke explains. He’s stroking Anders’ smoothed-back hair as Anders drowses, leaning into the touch. “We agreed on cockwarmer with mobility, fellatio, and very specific clean-up. He can tap three times to pause or stop. The game ends when his collar comes off.” Hawke pauses. “I want to support his headspace, but we need you to be comfortable if you’d like to stay.”

“I’m here,” Fenris says. “Give me a moment.”

Fenris brings up the image he needs to confront: a memory of another, younger man. Soft focus and pliant, but nothing sweet about it, whatever Danarius called it. Fenris doesn’t think about how that slave broke that night. Instead, he remembers Anders’ letter and his enthusiasm for being used during sex. Then he thinks it through. That young man had detached from his body to avoid what was happening to him. Anders can avoid it with three taps. The slave’s collar never came off. This game ends when Hawke removes Anders’ collar tonight.

And the collar will come off. Anders has a cause independent from Hawke, but for now, here he is. Sweet, docile. _Resting,_ Hawke has called it. Hawke derives pleasure from giving Anders and Fenris peace. Love. Understanding. Mind-searing orgasms. Often in one night.

“May I?” Fenris asks. At Hawke’s nod, Fenris stands, leaning over Hawke to trace a finger over Anders’ cheek. Anders leans into the touch, humming. Not completely cut off, then. Fenris pushes a finger into Anders’ pliant mouth, shivers at the rush of sensations as Anders gently cradles it, and then dries it by petting Anders’ hair. Trusting Hawke, trusting those letters, he returns to his chair.

“A few months ago, you wouldn’t have blinked,” Hawke says.

Fenris glares defiantly at Hawke, who smiles wider. “I’m not callous.”

“Callous would be terrible,” Hawke agrees as he tugs Anders onto his cock, only half hard. “Your safeword?”

“Jester,” Fenris says.

Hawke hums happily, and soon Anders chokes again. Hawke guides his head up by his ponytail. Anders hums. Hawke watches his own cock disappear into Anders’ mouth for another wet choking noise.

“I’ve never used its advanced features,” Hawke says, pride in his voice, “but its standard functions have operated smoothly; it won’t disappoint.”

Every time Hawke refers to Anders as ‘it,’ Anders relaxes, eyes closing, face going sweeter. Hawke’s breath gets heavy.

“Fuck, Fenris, you should take a turn, it’s perfect.”

That switches off Fenris’ analysis as lust uncurls from wherever it’s been hiding. Hawke’s bragging to a peer about a new toy, but he’s also fucking Anders, who is sweet and loose, focusing on Hawke’s cock. Hawke smirks at Fenris under hooded eyes, breathing hard. Then he gazes adoringly at Anders and cups the back of his head with one hand. His muscles flex under his silks as he reins in his strength, not thrusting into Anders as hard as his body begs for. Watching it, Fenris can almost feel it.

Hawke grunts as he pulls Anders deep three more times. Then he holds him deep, bobbing him a few inches while he closes his eyes with another long grunt. Anders swallows around his cock. _Oh, that’s luscious._

Hawke sighs. “It’s self-cleaning,” he says and pulls Anders off. Anders traces a dribble of cum back into his mouth. He licks his lips and fingers clean and then holds his own elbows behind his back to lick Hawke’s cock thoroughly once. He settles again with Hawke’s soft cock in his mouth.

“I can see how he—how _it_ would be convenient,” Fenris says, amused. “Forgive me, but it’s realistic.”

“Also comfortable. Would you fancy a turn?”

Fenris hums, deciding how involved to be. “That is gracious, Hawke,” he concludes, then unlaces his leggings and smalls and tucks both under his balls. “Can it switch users on its own?”

Hawke guides Anders’ head from between his legs. “Mobility, remember? My toys are useful.”

Hawke hands Fenris a spare pillow and keeps Anders from hitting his head on the desk. _No pain,_ the letter said. Fenris settles the pillow between his knees and takes head-care duty as the toy crawls to it. Anders settles Fenris’ half-hard cock on his tongue, and Fenris’ cock surges. Anders bobs once before Fenris stills him, squeezing his eyes shut.

Once his breath is under control, Fenris says, “You might get it adjusted, Hawke. The automatic features are distracting.”

Hawke smiles. “I’ll look into that,” he says and turns back to his journal.

Fenris opens his book. Though he ignores Anders’ lips wrapped around his cock, a pleasant, moist warmth buzzes through his body. It relaxes him as he enjoys Genitivi’s detailed descriptions of faraway lands. Ten or twenty pages later, he’s still using Anders as Hawke described: a convenient comfort. Fenris glances to check on him.

Anders shifts comfortably on his pillow between Fenris’ legs. He’s been floating in pleasant, buzzing headspace all night. Fenris remembers how using Anders sexually satisfies him. He imagines them negotiating in the parlor, the eager anticipation Anders gets when they find an idea he loves.

Anders gags as Fenris’ cock hardens into his throat, Anders’ lips wrapped around the smooth base. Hawke watches as Fenris closes his book and guides Anders’ head with long, slow strokes.

Anders’ lips seal around Fenris. His tongue presses Fenris’ cock, no longer just holding. Fenris sets the book down to wrap his other hand under Anders’ chin to squeeze his cheeks with his fingertips. Anders sucks them in.

“Kaffas.” _Tight, good, with Hawke’s eyes on us._ Fenris speeds Anders’ motion. That pleasant glow from being held feeds into his hum of pleasure. Orgasm builds fast, sweet, and light, but beside the point.

“Unf.” Through the pulses of pleasure and the sting of his lit tattoos, Fenris feels Anders’ throat swallowing deliciously around the end of his cock. “Kaffas, incaesor, festis bei umo canavarum.”

Hawke grins as he returns to his work. Anders tries to pull off, but Fenris holds him on, pretending to read again. When the dribble of cum cools on his balls, he allows Anders to clean up, setting his skin tingling. Once Anders settles again, Fenris stops pretending and continues to explore new lands with Genitivi, trying to spot his Chantry biases.

At the next chapter, Fenris offers, “I don’t mean to monopolize your new toy. Care to take a turn?”

“I don’t mind sharing, but I won’t refuse.”

They switch Anders between them several times. Hawke feeds Anders sips from his water glass and gives up his turn whenever he gets half-hard. Fenris’ easy orgasm comes once more. The third time Fenris gets hard in Anders’ mouth, he uses it for a few strokes and decides he’d rather finish the passage. He lets himself go soft again, stroking Anders’ hair and reading.

At the end of the evening, Hawke puts away his writing supplies while Fenris strokes Anders’ hair absently.

“May I?” Hawke asks, moving his chair back and plucking the end of the leash from its hook.

“All yours,” Fenris says, directing Anders and protecting his head from the desk with his hand. Fenris finishes this paragraph and closes on a bookmark to watch them play.

Hawke has both hands cupped around Anders’ head, thumbs caressing from ear to cheekbone, dictating the tilt of his head and jaw to pull Anders impossibly deep. As he speeds up, eyes locked on Anders’ mouth, Anders hums.

“Again, toy,” Hawke says in a rough voice. Anders hums again, and Hawke’s hips jerk enough his chair scrapes on the tile. “Look at those beautiful lips, you were made perfect,” Hawke says. “Feel so good; look so good around my cock.” Anders hums and tries to move. “No, precious toy. Let me guide you. Take what I give your throat, fuck that’s right, fuck your throat. Hmm, your chest is a beautiful place to cum. I’ve used you all night.” Hawke’s voice and the way Anders whimpers with need are searingly hot. “I’m keeping you, toy; no returns. Might use you _every_ night. But we’re not sharing you. Not-fucking-ever letting you go. Too useful, too good to risk.”

Under the game, Fenris can hear Hawke’s message: ‘I love you. I want you forever.’ It’s a fantasy: Anders is a possessed mage. He will lose control, and Meredith’s templars will kill him. Fenris feels a pang of sympathy for Hawke, but he’s willing to enjoy their fantasy while it lasts.

“Fuck, Anders, you feel so good!” Hawke cries, fucking into his throat now. Anders is still sweet and loose, trusting Hawke completely. “Look at you, fuck!”

“You should see it from here,” Fenris says. Hawke’s rough touch tugs strands free of Anders’ ponytail. Anders’ lips are swollen and red around Hawke’s thrusting cock. Anders is loose and clear, letting Hawke use him however he needs.

“Seen it, fuck, seen it, fuck you look good together,” Hawke says, then pulls Anders off, tugging him to a good place to hit his chest and jacks his wet cock.

He’s close but this won’t do it. “What do you need, Hawke?” Fenris says.

“Been holding back all evening. So good, frustrating,” he replies breathlessly.

Fenris gets up to breathe in Hawke’s ear. “Cum, Hawke,” he mutters just loud enough for Hawke to hear.

That finishes him. Fenris watches over Hawke’s shoulder. Anders shakes the instant the cum touches his skin. Hawke spurts over Anders’ chest above the nipples: first one side, then the other. Fenris savors Hawke’s moan.

Hawke spreads the thick cum over Anders’ chest with his hand, and Anders stops shaking and slumps with a sigh. Hawke offers his hand to Anders, who licks it clean, smiling softly when Hawke moans.

“Fenris, can you please get us a cloth?” Hawke sighs as he sits back.

Fenris presses his lips to Hawke’s temple and then finds a few rags for them. Hawke wipes Anders’ skin dry. Only the scent of sex remains.

“Rest,” Hawke says. “You’ve been working hard.”

Anders sighs and curls up on his pillow, spilling off it but content.

“Bedtime?” Fenris asks, smiling.

“Yeah,” Hawke says, “just give me a moment.”

Hawke and Fenris strip naked for bed and help a very noodley Anders out of his shirt, favor, and collar and into bed. They leave his loose pants.

They arrange Anders between them, on his side facing Hawke, who asks, “Do you need anything?”

“No,” Anders says. “’M good. Thank you, Hawke. P’fect.”

“Don’t forget to thank Fenris.”

Anders turns to say, “Thank you, Fenris.”

Fenris knows he’s saying it out of duty, but something twists in his gut. Anders turns back, and Fenris sticks his nose in Anders’ hair. Sweat and something metallic.

“You’re welcome,” he rumbles. “Thank you.” One of his legs is bent over three legs, the arch of his foot resting on Hawke’s calf. Hawke’s other leg is between his, probably between Anders’ legs as well. It’s comfortable.

“I don’t need more,” Anders insists. “This is good, Hawke.”

“Okay,” Hawke says, tucking Anders’ loose hair behind his ear. “Okay,” and Anders sighs, relaxing. Anders is so loose Fenris can’t tell when he falls asleep.

Fenris watches Hawke stroke Anders’ hair slower until his hand stills. Then Fenris closes his eyes.

He blinks in sudden sunlight. Anders is on his back, stretching like a bowstring and detangling their legs as Hawke wakes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kaffas, incaesor, festis bei umo canavarum – Shit, dangerous thing, you’ll be my death.   
> (Though let’s face it anything in Tevene would sound hot.) 
> 
> While kink alone can satiate, it’s a much shorter time before lust kicks in again. So! Two more orgasms, breakfast, and then a brief afterward.


	3. The Next Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two orgasms and a breakfast.

Fenris throws a hand over Anders’ chest, intending to go back to sleep if he can. Anders hisses at an accidental graze over his nipple, and Hawke pops up on one elbow to examine him. Fenris’ awareness sharpens: Anders isn’t loose as he was last night. Every muscle is taut even now that he’s done stretching.

Fenris caresses his skin, and Anders _shakes_. “Oh, this will be fun,” Fenris rumbles. Anders shakes harder. He still smells very faintly of sex.

“Fine last night, but now I need…” Anders moves, but Fenris leans in, pressing his chest and pinning his arm with his body. Anders’ other arm grabs for Hawke as he moves down, smiling, to untie Anders’ pants and slide them off his hips, stopping just above the knee before tightening the string again. Fenris watches Hawke trail teasing fingers up his thighs, making Anders’ cock bob and strain.

“Please, please, please, please, please,” he whispers, shaking again.

“Please what, Pet?” Fenris asks and then realizes the collar is on the desk.

“Please don’t stop,” Anders begs.

“Fuck,” Fenris says. Hawke nods, watching them, but Anders can’t see that with his eyes squeezed shut. They tease Anders, fingers and nails trailing over his body as he thrashes against his trousers and Fenris’ body. Sparks jump between the fingers of his free hand.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, pulling his free hand next to his head and flexing it. Fenris reaches behind Anders’ head to catch that wrist. Anders pulls against it, saying “Thank you, thank you, yes, yes, yes.” As they continue to tease, he alternates between pulling, writhing in Fenris’ hold, and going loose, shaking moments later.

Holding Anders keeps Fenris occupied, but Hawke is free to move. Sometimes he watches in wonder, but more often he touches Anders: fingers in his mouth, rubbing his nipples with a wet touch, teasing his thighs, light touches to his cock.

Fenris’ second orgasm last night surprised him, but now he’s equally surprised to press against Anders’ thigh, hard again.

“Fuck!” Anders says, arching back and pulling harder. “Want it, want your cock, don’t care how, please.”

“I don’t believe you,” Fenris says. “Try again.”

Anders whimpers and squirms. “Want it in my ass, so tight around you. Fill me up. Want the stretch, want to cum like that, please…” Anders goes incoherent as Hawke moans. He’s sitting back, holding himself but not stroking.

“And you, Hawke?” Fenris asks, trailing fingers over Anders’ skin and pinching his nipples. Anders pulls quick in his grip, arching back but not trying to get away.

Hawke smiles. “You know me,” he says. “I love to watch.”

Anders shakes again, saying, “Yes, yes, yes yes yes…” then very softly, “Anything.” Louder: “Please. So good, so good. Please.”

“Kaffas, I love when you’re sweet like this,” Fenris says. “You would do anything I asked, wouldn’t you?”

Anders shakes harder. “Yes. Yes, please let me. So good for you.”

“Love when your ass is tight around my cock, Pet,” he says, because it’s true, but also because Anders worked hard last night. He earned it. “Ready, Pet?”

“Yes, _so_ ready. Dreamed this.”

Fenris releases him and takes his pants off, but Anders is still shaking.

“Can’t move. Want it so bad. Please.”

Fenris moans. _How does one line both annoy me and turn me on?_ He flips Anders over onto all fours. Anders stays there for two seconds, panting, and then shakes again. His arms collapse, leaving his ass high and tempting in the air. Hawke sets a bottle of oil in his free hand. _When did he get up? No, it doesn’t matter._

“Can I spank you first?” Fenris asks. Anders moans and shakes harder, wiggling his ass in the air.

Fenris runs a hand over Anders’ ass. His flesh is taut, nothing easy in this pose. Anders settles at the touch, sighing and leaning back. Fenris lifts his hand and savors the anticipation in Anders’ stillness. He smacks Anders’ ass, and he cries out, jerking forward. Anders moans low and continuously as Fenris scrapes his nails against Anders’ skin.

The sounds make it difficult for Fenris to think: “Uuuuuuuuuhn”—smack! “Oh!—Uuuuuuuuuhn”—smack! “Oh!” repeated until Anders’ ass is a glowing red.  Anders rocks in small thrusts against air as Fenris scrapes his nails on Anders’ thighs and sensitive ass.

“Pet, you’re being so patient for me,” Fenris says as he opens the bottle of oil and slicks his cock up. _Fuck, that feels good._ On impulse, he drizzles oil down Anders’ crack, pulling one cheek aside to watch his puckered asshole flutter in anticipation as the oil slicks over it.

Fenris rubs the tip of his cock over that hole for Anders’ broken, “Please!” as he presses back. Fenris pushes in a few inches as Anders moans low, clutching at the sheets.

“That’s it, Pet, take what I give you.” Fenris vaguely hears Hawke’s hand over his wet cock.

He wants to drive Anders over the edge so he can follow. _Fuck you so hard. No, not like that._ Anders moans, mindless with pleasure as Fenris stops to regain control. He closes his eyes and remembers bits of their sex talks. Anders: “Pain takes a few hits before it gets really good for me.” Hawke: “We negotiated use, not damage,” but also, “I want you to have that reminder.”

Hawke’s hand on his back steadies him. They haven’t negotiated hard riding this time, either. Fenris opens his eyes. Anders is still moaning and sweet, Hawke is slick and hard next to him, but the urge to slam into Anders without prep or mercy passes. Anders squeezes around him. Fenris nods to Hawke and shifts his grip on Anders’ hips.

As Hawke gives him room, Fenris pulls back, slowly slides in inches deeper. In and out, a little deeper each time, drizzling more oil onto his cock when needed. Anders’ sounds change: more desperate in, sweeter out. Finally, Fenris grinds his hips in a small, slow circle against Anders’ ass. Anders moans louder, lower. He shakes again for a few seconds before Fenris puts a hand on his back to steady him. Anders’ arms flail without purpose. Fenris worries he’ll hurt himself.

“Hawke, can you hold him?” Fenris asks.

“Yes, yes yes yes; thank you, Fenris; please, _Hawke_.” Every word from Anders shoots pleasure up from Fenris’ cock.

Hawke groans and moves to Anders’ head, shoving pillows out of the way. He pins Anders’ wrists to the mattress, palms down.

“Tell me how this feels, Pet,” Fenris says, grinding his hips.

“Good!” Anders pants. “Full… deep pleasure… so good.”

Fenris slides out, the tight pull incredible on his cock. Back in again, trying to hit Anders’ sweet spot.

“Annnugh!” Anders keens. “Yes, good! Good, thick pleasure, please.”

Anders’ words devolve as Fenris speeds up: from, “Feels so good, yes, so good, yes, good good good…” to a grunt with an ‘oo’ sound to it, to a low, formless moan. He ignores the tight squeeze around his cock, but his body responds anyway. It’s difficult not to cum.

Fenris leans forward. “I’m ready, Pet. Can you cum for me?”

“Yes!” Anders tugs against Hawke’s grip. “Touch me, please! Cum for you!”

Fenris grabs Anders’ cock, and Anders yells, spasming gloriously tight around his cock, and Fenris loses control. It’s like bursts of light deeper than his markings. It’s a glorious song, but he can _feel_ it instead of hearing it. Anders collapses into the mattress before he’s done. When the song ends, Fenris questions whether he went too hard, but Anders _purrs_ against his chest and everything is slick and good.

“Good morning,” Fenris says when he’s caught his breath.

Hawke laughs near their heads as Anders says, “Assam-frazzam garble unf.” Direct quote. Fenris takes it as a good sign.

“Ready for breakfast?” Hawke replies.

Anders glares at him. Fenris does the same and says, “Void, no,” as Anders’ head flops down into his arms.

Hawke laughs again. Did he cum? Fenris can’t tell but decides not to worry. Hawke can ask for what he wants. Besides, his second orgasm last night was intense, definitely not the light, sweet treats Fenris got.

“You two look magnificent,” Hawke claims.

“We look a mess,” Fenris says. “Now, Anders’ sounds were magnificent.” Fenris rolls to Anders’ side. They exchange disgruntled noises. “Since you’re so chipper, could you get rags?”

Fenris can hear the grin in Hawke’s voice. “Fair enough,” he says and gets them. Fenris savors the pleasure, the dull sweetness of touching Anders’ skin so soon after orgasm. He’s half asleep by the time Hawke gets back.

“Need help?” he asks, mischievous now.

Fenris has his pride. “No,” he says as Anders says, “Yeph,” into the mattress, still unmoving. Fenris scoots back to let Anders turn over and cleans himself as Anders sighs under Hawke’s ministrations. Maybe he should have less pride: that seems nice.

Hawke taunts them as he dresses, but only when they have the energy to pull on pants do they agree to breakfast. Hawke bounds out to find Orana.

While he’s piling rags discreetly in a corner, Anders says, “I knew Hawke was being paranoid.”  

“What?” Fenris asks, too relaxed to make it snap. He tucks the leash and collar into Hawke’s cabinet and then smooths blankets over the wet spots.

Anders shrugs. “You didn’t have a problem with it. Sorry if the letters ruined the surprise.”

Fenris stares at Anders, disbelieving. “Just when I think you get it…” he mutters.

“What was that?” Anders snarks. “I didn’t quite hear you.”

“There was no problem with it _because_ of the letters. I could prepare myself.”

Anders pats his own ass with a smirk. “No one fucked _you_ into the mattress. What did you have to prepare?”

“I prepared mentally and decided to participate. Stop being an ass.” _Or making everything about your ass._

“I’m not—okay, I am being an ass, but it’s because I don’t understand. You enjoyed what we did last night.”

“So did you. That’s the difference. That’s what I prepared for.”

“Difference from what?” Anders insists.

“Another slave.” Fenris sighs when this doesn’t quell his curious look. His pleasant morning-after slips away. “Danarius borrowed others from their duties, sometimes because they caught his fancy but more often because they ‘needed to learn their place’. When he used them as objects, he did it to break them.” Fenris raises a hand at Anders’ shocked look. “He can’t hurt anyone again.”

“I looked broken?” Anders asks as Hawke slips into the room.

“Yes, it was similar, but I remembered the reality before reacting,” Fenris says. “You enjoy each other. Some things Danarius twisted to abuse can be done in a loving way instead. Watching you helps me figure out what I like and what was fucked up.”

“Did you notice,” says Hawke, sauntering to the bed, “you held Anders down and had me pin him?”

“I did.” Fenris smiles. _Hawke. Please. Did I notice._ “Anders was _enjoying_ it so much, I was glad it didn’t bother me this time.” Hawke smiles and wraps one hand around the bedpost at the foot, watching them lovingly.

“Thank you for that,” Anders says. “Bondage is less important than knowing where my hands go, but it’s become… not a _new_ kink, just… stronger.”

Fenris smiles. “Benches at my place?”

“You still need Hawke for that?” Anders says, smiling back.

“For now,” Fenris shrugs.

Hawke says, “I must know every-fucking-thing about these benches. Urgently.”

“Morning, Serahs.” Orana walks in with her tray, and Hawke hits his head against the bedpost and groans.

“Patience, Hawke,” Fenris admonishes. “I thought you wanted breakfast? Good morning, Orana.” She puts the tray on the bed with a daring flourish. “You’re looking well,” Fenris continues as the scent of breakfast hits him: flakey pastries, fruit, and tea.

Orana touches her hair, actually _smirking_. “You, too.”

Fenris’ hand flies to his own hair, confirming it’s a disaster, but then he laughs, flattening it as she pours their tea for them.

“I have help,” he says, indicating both Anders, sprawled indolently on the bed, and Hawke, failing to hide his impatience. “Hawke, I promise benches are not that interesting.” Fenris and Anders move the tray to the center of the bed, careful not to spill the tea.

“Well… I was hoping…” Hawke glances at Orana. “Never mind.”

Anders laughs while Hawke huffs. It’s not fair to use Hawke’s determination _not_ to traumatize the staff against him, but it _is_ funny.

Smiling, Orana moves so Hawke can clamber onto the bed and attack breakfast. “Bodahn and Sandal have helped me. Bodahn fetches things I need for the household, and Sandal never fails to make me smile.”

“Unless he’s being creepy,” Hawke chimes in, slathering a slice of bread with soft cheese.

Orana shrugs. “True,” she agrees.

Fenris plucks a loquat from the tray, peeled and halved.

“You should go with Bodahn sometime. The Kirkwall market is…” Fenris searches for the right words. “… an experience.” The loquat is perfect: soft like a peach and bursting with a flavor somewhat like a cherry, a plum, and an apricot had offspring.

“With such a ringing endorsement, how could she resist?” Anders says, snorting as he collects samples of three different olives from the tray. Fenris claims a pastry before his boyfriends take them all.

Anders pops the first olive in his mouth. “Sublime,” he breathes a moan as he chews, closing his eyes in pleasure. Then he scans the tray.

“The turnips will clear your pallet between olives, messere,” Orana says.

“The what?” Anders asks, blinking.

Fenris offers him a small dish of bright-pink pickled turnips. “They’re sour,” he explains. “It cuts the bitter flavor.” Anders takes the dish, still mystified, and Fenris snitches one from it, popping it into his mouth with a crunch.

Anders tilts his head and eats one, and then shrugs and pops the next olive in his mouth.

“Oh, that’s good!” he says, spitting out a pit. “It’s richer and more bitter, but with a mellow smoothness to it.”

Fenris smiles, reminded of sommeliers in Minrathous. Fenris never liked strong olives, but Anders’ pleasure entrances him.

“The third one is from Antiva,” Orana frets. “It might not be good.”

Anders grabs another turnip, tense and aware of his audience. He glances around and relaxes again, smiling. He looks right at Hawke as he slides this one into his mouth. Hawke gapes, Orana giggles, and Fenris says, “You’re terrible,” as he chuckles.

“Maker,” Anders says, rolling his eyes in bliss. “This one’s good, too. Sharper, but an interesting flavor profile. The bitterness doesn’t take everything over.”

Orana beams. “Oh, good! I was so worried! Messere Hawke mentioned you like olives, and… well, I’m glad you approve.”

“Thank you,” Anders calls when Orana curtseys and leaves the room. Then he turns to the other two. “Am I that obvious about the olives?”

Hawke grins. “It’s been building up, but last time you nearly gave Fenris a heart attack.”

“What?” Anders says.

Fenris feels his face heat. “I wasn’t _that_ bad,” he mutters. _Does Hawke know how touchy Anders is about our promise not to love?_

Anders looks up, then at Fenris, then up again, flicking through his memories. Fenris struggles to give him time. _Don’t accuse me of breaking that promise. I didn’t._

“Why would that give you a heart attack?” Anders ventures.

Fenris huffs. “Is it surprising if I enjoy watching your pleasure?”

“Physical pleasure, maybe, but…”

Anders tries to describe the non-existent difference, but Fenris plucks an olive from the tray and slides closer. Slowly, so Anders can stop him, he lays his hand where his neck meets his shoulder, getting his full attention and tipping his head with a thumb against his jawbone.

“What’s more physical than this?” Fenris asks, pressing an Antivan olive into Anders’ mouth. Fenris caresses his lips as it disappears and trails his thumb down Anders’ neck. Anders leans into the touch as his eyes slip closed and he chews and swallows.

Anders opens his eyes and breaks the spell. Fenris moves back to his place, smirking.

“Guh, I see what you mean,” Anders says. “That’s a _fucking_ good olive.”

“You two will be the death of me,” Hawke says.

“Speaking of,” Fenris says, “I can’t sit comfortably on my benches anymore. Thanks for that.” He allows a sarcastic tone to color the compliment so Anders doesn’t freak out _again_ about ‘affection’. Ridiculous.

It works. “You’re welcome,” Anders chirps. “I assume you’re also reconsidering your position on mage rights?”

 _Sarcasm works too well._ Fenris rolls his eyes. “ _No_ , I am _not_ ”—

“Benches, not politics, boys,” Hawke says, amused. “What is this, why didn’t I know earlier, and when do we try it?”

“It was a _brief_ mention of tying Anders to the bench for a spanking, but, considering my squicks, we needed you to make it work so we discarded the idea.”

Anders shrugs. “I’m open to it.”

“You don’t have benches here,” Fenris says, “but my place is fine.”

“We might not fit on your bed afterwards,” Anders points out.

Hawke nods. “We could bring one here, or buy a new bench,” he says.

“You don’t get to steal my benches,” Fenris decides.

“Borrow!” Hawke objects.

“So you say,” Fenris teases.

“If we get a new bench,” Hawke says. “We could make sure it’s sturdy with comfortable ways to tie your arms.”

“Or uncomfortable ways,” Anders says.

“Hawke,” Fenris says, “are you drooling?”

“No!” Hawke says, wiping his mouth. “I’m definitely not!”

“I’m wondering…” Anders says, gazing in the middle-distance. “Could we mark my back?”

Fenris hisses in a breath as Hawke glances at his cabinet.

“That didn’t work, um… years ago,” Hawke says.

“That’s because I twisted away. The bench and ropes will hold me.”

“You want pain that you’d twist away from?” Fenris says.

Anders nods. “Before I… fully submit? I guess? It hurts, but I’ll put up with it until it’s good. When it’s intense like that, it gets really good.”

“I’m thinking a nice, wide belt,” Hawke says, his voice low.

“Yes! And with the bench, you can switch sides to get the perfect angle,” Anders says eagerly.

“Venhedis,” Fenris says, seeing himself carefully laying welts across Anders’ shoulders. The _sounds_ he would make… He glances at Hawke’s smirk. “I volunteer for hitting Anders with a belt.”

“I could give you a turn,” Hawke allows.

Anders sighs and tears a pastry apart, gazing dreamily at them. “I’m so lucky to have two men in my life so interested in my pleasure.”

“Or pain,” Hawke says, and Fenris remembers the cry Anders made _this morning_ when Fenris spanked him.

Anders waves his hand dismissively and pops a bite into his mouth. “Same difference,” he says, smiling.


	4. Afterward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isabela will do anything for a giggle.

“So Fenris, did you ever lose that note?” Isabela asks.

“No, I burned it,” he responds too cautiously, “but how did you know it existed?”

This gambit is tricky. Isabela tries her best bet: “I test the corruptibility of Hawke’s couriers. For security.”

“Thank you for ensuring they delivered it promptly, I suppose. Which courier was the security issue?”

“The cute one. With the dimples.” No point ruining a good exploit, but she _was_ cute.

“Oh. That narrows it down. How useful.”

“Wait, go back,” Isabela says. “Do you think I would withhold correspondence? You three deserve a good time even if Hawke refuses to let me join in.”

“Do you expect me to be grateful?”

“Not particularly, but I was hoping for details.”

Fenris fails to hide a smile. “That’s what got me, too.”

“Well?”

Fenris glances at Anders, talking with some probable mages across the Hanged Man. “Not a chance.”

“Spoilsport,” Isabela says.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to everyone who beta’d and commented on this work. Rosehip on AO3, @TearsofWinter on Tumblr, another friend from Discord, and @Protect-him on Tumblr all contributed perspectives that combined to inspire the letter, better negotiation, and a better Anders/Fenris dynamic. It made this fic stronger and I appreciate you so much! 
> 
> Speaking of comments, kudos are air! Comments are life! ~~Disproportionate hit counts (over time) feed my ego!~~ Kudo and/or comment if you can, but I hope you come back and enjoy it again. This work would still be a WIP without my lovely readers, so thank you.


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